


and when it’s time to find home (we know the way)

by Sanctuaria



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Banter, Canon What Canon, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Canon, Shenzhou Era, USS Shenzhou (Star Trek), milippa, whoops some comfort and feels slipped in here too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria
Summary: A few more of the crew clue into the exact nature of their Captain and First Officer’s relationship on theShenzhou, and Michael and Philippa share a moment in the ready room.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22
Collections: Femslash February





	and when it’s time to find home (we know the way)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write Milippa since day one of being into disco, and I have no idea why it's taken me this long ~~(okay, yes, it's partially Jola's fault lmao)~~. But, regardless, here we are, so enjoy :)
> 
> Title from _Moana_.

Michael walked briskly into the captain’s ready room, falling into her natural resting position with her hands clasped behind her back as she came to a stop just beyond the entranceway. Philippa was seated behind her desk, head bent over the PADD and her hair banded to the side in her customary fashion, dark strands tickling her neck and falling to obscure the gold on one side of her uniform. The room was dim, the light of warp outside the window glowing behind her and lighting up the outline of her head like a pale halo. Michael paused to properly appreciate the sight—not altogether a rare one, but no less breathtaking in its beauty.

“Computer, brightness to seventy percent,” Philippa said, closing out one last file and setting aside the PADD. The lights in the Ready Room rose slowly, so as not to blind them.

“I never did understand your love of working in darkness, Captain,” Michael admitted as Philippa stood up, pausing to stretch her arms and legs from too long seated at her chair.

“The PADD glows,” Philippa said, coming around the desk. She tilted her head slightly at Michael. “Besides, if one leaves the lights on too much, even in space you will never truly see the stars.”

“Don’t turn them on on my account then,” Michael responded, deducing that the statement was meant more metaphorically than physically, seeing as they were still at warp.

“I prefer to be able to see you when you come to visit me. As much fun as fumbling in the dark is…”

“I don’t recall much fumbling, Philippa,” Michael replied, the boldness of the words heady on her tongue.

Philippa gazed at her, an amused glint in her eye. “Even so. All is quiet on the bridge?”

Michael straightened again, an old habit in front of her captain and one she wasn’t looking to break. They were Captain and First Officer first and foremost, and anything else second. “Yes, Captain. Lieutenant Mirez has the conn; we may even get a full night’s sleep tonight before alpha shift starts at 0800.” Her posture relaxed marginally, a faint line forming between her brows as the memory of what had happened on the bridge just before she entered the Ready Room sprang to the forefront of her mind and depressed her shoulders. “Ensigns Connor and Almati smiled at me today.”

“Smiled, Number One?” Philippa queried. “Why do you look so morose about it?”

“This change in behavior suggests they _know_.” Michael paused. “I extrapolated that it would be Januzzi first, after the unfortunate incident with Lieutenant Detmer. I would have bet on it, too.”

“Alas, it would unprofessional of a Captain or a First Officer to bet on the observational acuity of their crew members,” Philippa said, and the accompanying sigh was more teasing than anything else. “And you would have lost, as everyone knows Connor’s ear for scuttlebutt is unparalleled. I’m surprised it took him this long.” She took in the expression on Michael’s face, the slight out-jutting of her lower lip that was the closest Michael would ever come to a pout. “Would you like me to have them disciplined, or perhaps moved to the gamma shift?”

Michael did not even merit that a response, knowing Philippa was far too professional to do anything of the sort. “We are doing everything right, and it is still the worst-kept secret on the ship.”

“Everything right outside of Starfleet regulations,” Philippa pointed out. Her gaze fixed steadily on Michael, the lightness leaving her tone to be replaced by something more weighted, serious. Caring, if Michael had to ascribe another word to it. She had never served aboard another Federation starship in her five years tenure, but she could not imagine any other captain as _warm_ with the crew as Philippa was. Distanced, as was proper, but she greeted even the newest ensign in the hallways as she passed, and when inspections or inventory came she insisted on going down to the bowels of the ship herself, maintaining that the work of each crew member should be recognized, no matter how close or far from the bridge where she spent day-to-day operations. It was the opposite of the rigid aloofness that Philippa occasionally complained the admiralty and their chain of command espoused, a sentiment not unexpected from a woman who had taken one look at the record of a Vulcan-raised human and decided to make it her mission to make sure she could return to her more emotional roots—and it was the kind of captain that Michael aspired to be, someday.

Philippa was still looking at her, with some concern now. “No,” Michael said quickly. “My apologies, Philippa; my thoughts got away from me.” _As they do too often when I am with you._ “What did you ask?”

“You’re not having second thoughts?” Her gaze was attentive, the diplomat in her keeping her expression carefully neutral for whatever response she might receive, but Michael was familiar enough with her to detect the slight downturn to her lips and the barest traces of self-doubt in her eyes. Michaeldid not need to guess what such doubt was regarding; she knew Philippa’s fears as readily as she did her own. That she was being selfish, permitting them to indulge in what she wanted—what they both wanted—when she had secured the heights of her career and Michael had yet a few years to go before she could expect her own captaincy. That, with one misstep, they would leave an indelible mark on Michael. That, when the time came, one of them might not be ready to let go.

But what Philippa failed to understand was that Michael had always been marked. Marked as the sole survivor of the attack on Doctari Alpha. Marked as the sole human attending the Vulcan Learning Center as a child, which had made her a target for the logic extremists. Marked as the one who had never attended Starfleet Academy like nearly all of her brethren aboard this ship but with a record that outclassed most of those she came across. A human raised Vulcan, marked as Other, Different, always.

And the mark that Philippa was leaving on Michael? It was indelible indeed, but not in the way she feared.

“No,” Michael said, the answer not immediate but measured and equally weighted as such a serious statement deserved, though the more human side of her balked at even waiting for a millisecond before providing this reassurance.

“I do not want to affect your career or put your future in jeopardy—”

“You are the best thing that ever happened to my career,” Michael said, cutting Philippa off in a way she never would have presumed to on the bridge. Always was Philippa’s concern in their relationship for her, for _Michael_ …

 _“I am old,”_ Philippa had told her once, near the beginning. Not the beginning of their time together on the _Shenzhou_ , as that partnership and the ease with which they worked together seemed to span eons, but soon after the growing tension between them had grown impossible to ignore, a plunge and a shift in their relationship that had been as dramatic as it was easy. _“What worry is there for me, if the worst comes to pass; I have weathered many a broken heart in my time. But you…”_

 _“You are not_ old _, Philippa,”_ Michael had told her.

 _“The gray hair I found this morning disagrees with you,”_ Philippa had replied, and Michael had laughed and kissed her, promising to excise such a troublesome hair for her if she wished. But still, she heard the implication Philippa did not say, along with all of the other arguments she has heard time and time again as they sought to make sure each of them was fully cognizant of the choice they were making in sidestepping Starfleet regulations, and the consequences. “You are the best thing that ever happened to my career,” Michael repeated. “There is no one in Starfleet _or_ the Vulcan Expeditionary Group I would rather serve under, learn from…be with.”

Philippa took a deep inhale of breath, then nodded once, sharply, Michael watching the doubt vanish from behind her eyes. Not vanquished, because Philippa cared too much for her for that, but settled, for now. Whatever Starfleet rules they were choosing to bypass—Regulation 1138, clauses gamma and theta, to be specific—consent, informed and freely given, was important for both of them. “In that case… Computer, privacy protocols,” Philippa said.

Michael’s eyes danced back at her. “Something you’d like to do to me, Captain?”

“ _With_ you, Michael,” Philippa said, pushing herself up until she was half-leaning, half-sitting on the edge of her desk.

Michael quirked an eyebrow as she was tugged close until she was standing between her legs, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face. “The other way sounds entertaining as well.” Planting her hands on Philippa’s hips, she surged forward, pushing their bodies flush against one another as she chased Philippa’s lips with her own. One of Philippa’s hands came to cradle her jawline, the other threading through the tiny curls at the back of her head. Michael nearly groaned into the kiss at the sensation, hands sweeping upward from her hips to sweep up her sides and down over Philippa’s stomach, feeling her taut muscles quiver beneath the fabric of her uniform.

No matter how many times they had done it, this was what Michael could not get enough of—the feeling of Philippa underneath her palms, of fingers raking through her hair, the press of her lips. As Captain Georgiou and Commander Burnham, there was no dearth of time spent together on the bridge or planet-side when the need arose, but it was time when they were just allowed to be them, _Michael_ and _Philippa_ , that felt like stolen moments of which Michael could not get enough. The occasional away mission with host cultures not quite understanding the relationship between a Captain and their Number One—which had happened more than once, now—or late nights when mission logs ran long, lights dim and steaming cups of tea beside them. _Philippa’s_ tea, in fact, a blend that Michael could not get right in the communal replicator and that she refused to ask for the pattern for even though she knew Philippa would give it to her in a heartbeat, because then she wouldn’t have an excuse to come by her quarters even when there were not logs of some kind to sort through.

Of course, Michael didn’t _need_ an excuse for such a thing, and liking her Captain’s tea was certainly not a good enough one to tell the crew, so it was an impulse less logical and Vulcan than it was human, but Michael treasured it all the same.

“I cannot wait for shore leave,” Michael whispered against her lips as they paused for air, “when we can take our time.” On the beaches of Pulau Langkawi as Philippa has described it, perhaps, bursts of green amongst the sun and sand and crystalline waters, or perhaps on Vulcan on the shores of Lake Yuron where she’d occasionally vacationed as a child. A place where they could be just them, where they could be at peace, where she could spend hours watching the way Philippa’s eyes crinkled at her when she smiled at her, where she could take her time to map the light freckles across Philippa’s pale skin the way astronomers of old mapped the stars.

“It won’t be too long,” Philippa said, the glint in her eyes combined with a softness that made Michael sure she knew exactly what she was thinking, or else had arrived at the same place herself. “The _Shenzhou_ ’s an old girl; something could break down between then and now… A lovely extended repair period at Starbase 11, perhaps?”

Michael raised a singular eyebrow. “If you finally grant Lieutenant Axotl’s request to run those experiments with the warp core…”

Philippa huffed a laugh. “Shore leave or not, I prefer my ship in one piece, Number One.”

“As do I, Captain. As… _relaxing_ as shore leave might be, I could never truly leave all of this behind.”

“You belong in the stars,” Philippa said, her expression filling Michael with a warmth like unlike the first rays of sunlight at dawn, though Michael found the comparison her mind had leaped to most curious. “That I have always known since the moment Ambassador Sarek brought you on board.”

“Starfleet, the _Shenzhou_ …they are home,” Michael told her truthfully. Home was exploration and discovery and scientific rigor, home was a good ship and a faithful crew, the occasional mischievous glint in Philippa’s eye and the softness of her skin, the extraneous burr nearly rubbed away on the arm of the captain’s chair. She paused for a moment, eyes in the distance, stricken by the suddenness of the emotion welling in her chest, too strong for the rigid tenants of logic to ever quell as she had so hoped for as a child. Logic was insufficient to explain the feeling of soaring faster than the most advanced lander pod could take her, the deep contentment soaked into her bones, her core, the very base of her. And if ever she was lost in a world where up was down and left was right, she knew it was this feeling that would always lead her home again.

“For me as well, my Michael,” Philippa assured her, one hand cradling her jawline.

“ _My Philippa_ ,” Michael whispered hoarsely, blinking away a strange wetness in her eyes, and then she was kissing her again, hunger matched in the way Philippa’s hands dropped to her waist in a grip firm and sure. “Continuing this…” Michael ground out in between kisses, “…on your desk…shows…poor judgment…”

“In my readings earlier, I noticed a discrepancy in some of the inventory reports from last week,” Philippa said, pulling back, her words far too uninflected for the hazed darkness of her eyes and her rate of respiration. The slightest hint of flush was beginning to creep up from below the collar of her uniform and Michael swallowed as her eyes fell to the column of her throat before darting back up again. “It will have to be another late night, I’m afraid.”

“It would be my _pleasure_ to assist,” Michael said, dropping her voice even lower than normal. She gave one last quick nip to Philippa’s lower lip before stepping back, smoothing her hands over the back of her head and straightening her uniform. It would be improper to give the ensigns any more reason to suspect, after all, not to mention Januzzi. “I am certain I will find the work most _stimulating_.”

Philippa’s answering smirk was enough to send happiness shooting down to her toes. _Home_. “Reconvene in ten minutes, Number One.”

“Yes, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback appreciated <3


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